


you can't have the bad guys without a hero

by hollow_city



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Batman (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bullying, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Damian Wayne is Robin, Gen, Hostage Situations, Humor, tim and bruce are mentioned a few times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-10 11:30:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13500878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollow_city/pseuds/hollow_city
Summary: william doesn't particularly like gotham. he's not entirely sure if anybody does, though, so he's not concerned. but if he's being honest, he kind of wishes he hadn't had to come here with his dad at all.(or, oliver takes william to gotham and absolutely nothing good comes from it.)





	you can't have the bad guys without a hero

**Author's Note:**

> i am living for dad oliver. i am all for it. i love william. i love william and oliver and felicity being a family. i love it all.  
> be advised, i started this right after i took a spanish final, wrote most of it while working on an assignment at midnight, and am finishing it as i panic about another overdue assignment. it might be a mess.  
> the title is from the song pigeon by cavetown.

-

William doesn't particularly like Gotham. He's not entirely sure if anybody does, though, so he's not concerned. But if he's being honest, he kind of wishes he hadn't had to come here with his dad at all.

The only reason he did was that there was nobody to watch him, and Oliver needed to go to Gotham to follow up on a lead on Cayden James.

(William hates James. Once he found out why exactly Oliver needed to put the hood on again, he wasn't so put off by the idea.)

So, yes. William kind of hates Gotham. Sure, they have their vigilantes and their weird-ass supervillains, but none of them could ever measure up to the Flash, so he's not interested. 

(At least, that's what tells his dad right before he falls asleep at their hotel window, watching to see if Batman would fly past on a distant rooftop.)

Reflecting on recent events, William isn't really sure how he ended up in this situation. Oliver had been perfectly clear that he was not to leave the hotel without him, because Gotham is a cesspit of crime and danger. William wants to laugh because that plan seems to have backfired. 

And man, one would think that staying in the nicest, most expensive hotel in the whole damn city would warrant some warmer floors. William's knees and palms beg to differ. It's frigid. 

The gun that hits his back to get him there doesn't help, either.

"Everybody, listen up!" a nasally voice yells from the middle of the lobby. Williams looks up from where his hands are splayed to hold himself up and his eyes widen.

He's seen some pretty interesting villains in Star City, but nothing like this. This forces him to bite down on his bottom lip and push himself back to sit on his tucked feet to stop the giggles bubbling to his lips. This is worse than even the Trickster from the  _nineties._

It's a group of people, a large one at that, and they're all dressed similarly. Garish colors that make the fluorescent lights above seem dim, tight clothes on men who shouldn't wear clothes that tight, and masks that cover everything but their mouths. The outfits are mix-matched and most of them seem to be patchwork pieces of other things, making them look like walking traffic lights. 

"I've got an account number written right there," the same man says, pointing to another man who holds a rather large poster board above his head. Numbers are written on it in big, black print. "Now, you've all got so much money you could use it to fuel the fire in one of your five fireplaces. You've got plenty to spare."

He jumps down from the counter on which he'd been standing and waves his gun haphazardly. 

"You have ten minutes to transfer all you have to that account," he tells them, his lip stretched into an excited grin. "Clock starts now, so I'd get on that!"

William's mind is racing as he tries to figure it all out. He's been in worse situations, he tells himself. This is nothing. He keeps that in mind as he combs over the plan the group seems to have. Block all the exits, hold them all at gunpoint, give them ten minutes to transfer all of their funds into one account. He's picking apart the plan and exposing the flaws before the clock even hits nine minutes and thirty seconds. 

His hands are supposed to be behind his head, but his phone is in his pocket, and he knows if he can just reach down and press the button on the side three times then everything will be fine. He just has to find the perfect opening. 

It comes at seven minutes and thirty-nine seconds when the man pacing around the group in which William's kneeling turns in the other direction to prod at a silently sobbing older woman with his gun. As quickly as he possibly can, he unlinks his fingers and dips his hand into his pocket, pressing the side button three times in quick succession. His hand is back behind his head by the time the man turns back to him, at seven minutes and twenty-eight seconds. 

He's not sure if the alert goes to Felicity or straight to Oliver, or even Uncle John, because he's never used the emergency function that Felicity installed on his phone before, but he knows it doesn't really matter. He's seen his dad in action; whoever it goes to, he'll be across the city and back to the hotel before the clock even reaches five minutes. At least, William hopes he will. 

"What happens if we don't?" a particularly brave looking man calls out. He's sweating profusely, and William can't figure out where the man got the courage to say anything. 

The leader's lips quirk in an easy smile and he turns to face the man. "Well, we'll be on our way out of here. You'll have ten seconds after that."

An uneasy air spreads through the room as they try to figure out what he means. 

"I wouldn't want to have to press this, though, so I suggest you get on with it," he says, voice cold as he fishes a detonator out of his pocket. He holds it up for everybody to see, and a quiet gasp travels through the hostages.

William's eyes narrow. That only makes everything more difficult.

"It'd be a shame to have to set this off," the leader sneers as he turns toward a table with an expensive looking tablecloth. With a vicious kick to the table's edge, it tips and careens across the floor, screeching to a halt a few meters away as it reveals a large bomb. Wires protrude from every surface and a tiny screen on the front reveals the time: six minutes and forty-five seconds. Just ten seconds longer than the time they'd all been given to transfer their money. 

That puts a damper on things. 

William's scans the room, taking in every little detail. His eyes narrow at the press of the barrel of a gun into his spine, but he doesn't say a word. He doesn't say a word as his eyes fall on a lithe figure hiding in the shadowed rafters. He doesn't say a word as the black and blue figure tiptoes above them, casing the scene.

He looks away. 

He would've liked for his dad to be here, but he's not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Nightwing will do  _just fine._

"Four minutes," the leader sings out, the sickly sweet smile ever present. "I sure hope you've all followed directions."

The bomb ticks down towards four minutes. William's hands clench in the hair on the back of his head. He's been through worse, he thinks, he's been through worse.  _He's been through worse._

His hands shake anyway. 

The clock ticks down to two minutes and a tiny figure appears in the rafters. He hangs down slightly, suspended by a grappling gun, and stares down at the bomb. He has something in his hand, but he seems to be waiting for something, and William can't figure it out. 

A loud crashing sound explodes from down a hallway on the other side of the lobby, and several of the henchman jump. One even squeezes the trigger by mistake, causing the leader to sneer in his direction. 

"Go, what are you waiting for?" the leader shrieks, waving his free hand frantically in the direction of the sound. Several (too many, William thinks) of the men leave their spots amongst the hostages and head to investigate the sound. It leaves the space around the bomb empty, and Robin ample opportunity to descend from the rafters. 

At the last second, as the boy is halfway down from the ceiling, the leader makes to turn towards him, and William panics.

"You know this won't work, right?" he blurts, his heart immediately kicking into high gear as the breath turns stale in his lungs. 

The leader snaps around to stare at him instead. 

"Ah, looks like we've got a brave little one!" he laughs, walking towards him. "Alright, kid. I'll bite. What do you think is gonna happen?"

The barrel of his gun hits William's sweaty forehead. 

He doesn't know what to say, and his whole body quivers almost imperceptibly as he fishes for anything at all to keep the man's attention.  _He's had it worse._

"How will you know if everybody did it? It's not like you counted how many people are here, right?" he's pulling things out of nowhere that don't really matter, but Robin has just attached the device to the bomb, so he has to plow through. The leader opens his mouth, but William keeps talking. "Besides, even if you did, it's not like it would mean anything. I mean, if you included me, you'd already be throwing things off, because I don't have a bank account."

"Listen, kid-" the leader looks somewhere between mildly inconvenienced and slightly put out. 

"No, you listen!" William doesn't mean to raise his voice, but he's beginning to panic, and he can't help it. "There are  _so_ many heroes in this city, and I'm saying that as somebody from Star City! What made you think doing this here, at night, would be a great idea?"

His voice is trembling now, and his eyes are prickling with unshed tears, but his gaze doesn't waver.  _He's had it worse._

"Usually I avoid smacking around kids, but you-" the leader starts, but he doesn't get to finish, because a green-booted foot slams into the side of his head and he drops like a sack of rocks. 

The room explodes into chaos as the leader hits the ground. Not enough henchman remain to carry their own weight, and only a few shots are fired before the four present vigilantes take them out. William only receives a hit to the back from the same man pressing the gun into his spine before, but he catches himself on his hands. He's back in the position that brought him here, and he can't bring himself to sit up. His breath comes in quick gasps as zip ties are pulled and guns are dismantled to pieces. 

He wants his dad to be here, and he doesn't want to admit that, because he's eleven whole years old, he shouldn't be whining for his dad. But he wants his dad, and he can't stop the tear that drops from his eye straight to the ground. 

"Hey, kid, are you okay?" a smooth, gentle voice sounds at his side, and William flinches, before pushing himself back to sit on his feet again. He drags his forearms across his cheeks frantically to clear away the tears and nods frantically. "That was pretty brave of you."

It's Nightwing talking to him, and now Nightwing's hand is on William's shoulder, and if William weren't trembling with delayed panic and fear, he would be quivering with excitement. But now is not the time.

"I've had worse," he croaks, more to himself than to the vigilante beside him. His breath hitches before he gets himself under control. He doesn't see the frown that twists the man's features. 

William staggers to his feet, nearly falling if it weren't for Nightwing's hand on his shoulder. A shudder runs through his whole body when he finds himself standing over the man who had held a gun to his face. 

"William!" the sound of his dad's voice booming through the lobby breaks something in William's chest, and a quiet sob escapes his lips. He bites the others back but doesn't even bother trying to stop himself as he runs to his dad, nearly tripping over fallen things and unconscious thugs. 

Oliver is all sharp edges and white-hot fury, but William knows he's not angry with him. He’s livid, but William’s not in trouble. It’s all he needs to crash into his dad’s chest and bury his face in it, hiding the few more tears that escape his eyes.

“Are you okay? He didn’t hurt you, did he?” Oliver fires off questions in quick succession, pushing William back after a moment until he’s at arm's length so he can check him over for injuries.

Despite the situation, all William has to show for the incident is a bruise on his back and busted knees. He drags his forearms across his cheeks, trying his best to erase all indications that tears were ever there. He swallows hard and nods a few times.

“I’m fine, dad,” he says, his voice steadier than it has been since this whole thing started. “I’ve had worse.”

-

They don’t talk about it for a few days, and that’s when the changes begin.

Oliver can hardly believe it. He can hardly believe. He could handle his son’s obsession with Barry. He could handle the posters and the actions figures and the backpack. That was different.

But this is not that. This is _Batman and Robin_. He can’t believe this.

Felicity comes home one day with a Robin action figure, complete with the hood and the katana, and he can’t believe that she’s enabling him, but William looks so happy that he doesn’t say anything, and broods in silence.

He doesn’t say anything as the empty space on William's wall is filled with a poster of Batman. He feels particularly bitter about that one. He almost presses the number he has on speed dial but he knows the other billionaire won’t appreciate him calling just to complain about no longer being the favorite hero.

He doesn’t say anything as Halloween approaches and William begs to dress up as Red Robin.

Oliver almost says no. He almost says no, but then William comes home one day with a ruined Flash backpack and bruises on his knees. He says that the kids at school think Red Robin is lame and that William is a loser for liking him so much.

Oliver calls Cisco and the metahuman designs William the best goddamn Red Robin costume next to the original.

It doesn’t reach its peak until several months after the incident.

Felicity isn’t home, so it’s just the two of them on the couch, watching a mediocre movie and eating rather greasy pizza.

“So I’ve been thinking,” William mumbles around a slice of pizza. Oliver’s mild glare causes his mouth to snap shut and he doesn’t speak again until he’s swallowed. “Sorry. Anyway, I’ve been thinking.”

“What about?” Oliver humors him.

“Batman has always had a Robin, right?” William asks, taking a loud sip of his soda. “I mean, everybody knows there’s been a bunch, but there’s always been a Robin.”

“Yes,” Oliver hums, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. He takes another bite of his pizza.

“And… I mean, you’re the Green Arrow,” William says, his jittering knee the only thing betraying his calm and innocent expression.

“I am.”

“And you had Arsenal and Speedy.”

“Okay, where is this going?” Oliver finally asks, resting his elbow on the back of the couch so he can face William.

William takes another sip of his soda, looking everywhere but Oliver.

“Have you ever considered another sidekick? Or partner? I could do it! You could train me! I could be the Robin to your Batman! The Speedy to your Green Arrow!” he spouts off excitedly, bouncing in his seat and growing more and more enthusiastic as he goes.

Oliver’s eyes widen dramatically at his twelve-year-old, five-foot-three son. His very fragile, very much pre-teen son. 

It takes nearly five minutes for him to dislodge the bite of pizza from his throat, and as he pounds his chest with his fist, he’s already dialing Bruce Wayne’s phone number.

With one last wheezing cough, he lets out one loud word.

_“ No!”_

_-_

**Author's Note:**

> so where exactly did this whole thing come from? i mean, your guess is as good as mine. i hope i did okay, because i didn't really have a set plan when i started this, and kind of just wrote by the seat of my pants.


End file.
